I Thought I Could Live Without You - Johnlock
by dontyou2read
Summary: John and Sherlock's relationship had been blooming - they were flourishing in each other's company. But then something happens that tears them apart - do they know how to cope without their other half?
1. Chapter 1

All was quiet in 221B. I was laid on the sofa with my eyes shut, thinking about a case Lestrade had let me in on. Well, I was trying to think about the case. It was a simple case really, but I couldn't concentrate. Something… no someone… kept on interrupting my thoughts. John.

I had had feelings for him from the start, I just didn't realise then. His eyes, as soft as a child's, intrigued me. A year later, when I understood my emotions, I started to panic; so far, John had shown that he was… normal – attracted to women.

***FLASHBACK***

One night, Molly had taken us both out to a bar to loosen up. It did not go well. John and I had too much to drink, but not enough that we were unaware of what we were doing.

We got back to Baker Street and crawled up the stairs. I boiled the kettle and made some coffee – his without sugar. I took it to him in his room. He was sat on the bed. I put both of our patterned mugs on the table and sat beside him.

I looked into his eyes – his big, soft brown eyes. Suddenly I couldn't see anything but him; I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. For a second, he kissed me back, and then he drew back and walked out.

***END OF FLASHBACK***

Following that evening, John and I, after an awkward morning encounter in the hall, had been growing closer. We went out on less cases – I had less of a need for the highs of them (or drugs).

We spent our evenings curled up in front of the TV, watching crap shows like any other couple. We had our fights, but none like the night before, when John had stormed out on me, leaving me unstable. I was inconsolable.


	2. Chapter 2

It had all started when I had to leave and go on a case without John; Mycroft had informed me that it was a completely confidential case and that no-one – not even my boyfriend – was allowed any access to the case.

I came back late and John started to shout at me. Apparently he hadn't found the note I left him and had started panicking, phoning everyone on his phone to see if they knew everything.

"Where have you been?" he shouted. "I have been worried sick and you left me without a single word of warning."

"John, I can – "

"No. No excuses. I'm leaving, and I'm not coming back until you decide you can actually tell me stuff!"

With that, he slammed the door, shutting me and Baker Street out of his life. I stood there with no track of time, my head and heart empty and aching. At some point Mrs Hudson came in and put me to bed fully dressed, without asking anything.

The next day, I woke and didn't know what to do with myself. I eventually crawled out of bed and. All day, I was in a stupor.

Around three, Mycroft showed up to talk about the case. I was too tired to even order him out, so he sat in an armchair – John's armchair.

"So… have we solved it yet Sherlock?"

"Huh? We?" I said, my mind elsewhere.

"You and John, have you solved the case?" Mycroft poured himself a cup of tea from the tray Mrs Hudson had left on my coffee table.

I tensed up at the mention of John, and the tears threatened to appear. I hadn't cried all day and I was worried that they would spill soon - there was only so long my emotionless soul would hold. However, I remembered that Mycroft was there and for no reason was I going to cry in front of my older brother.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

_For Christ's sake, _I thought, _Mycroft seen that hasn't he? Why does he have to notice every single detail of my life? Well I'm not telling him why I'm upset; he'll have to solve that mystery himself_.

"It's," I started, "It's… John." _Great, _I thought, _so much for keeping it a secret. _And just like that, I spilled everything out to my unsupportive git of a brother. When I finished, I expected some sort of a remark about how stupid I was to get into a relationship, or how I knew that most relationships fizzled out in the end.

To my astonishment, Mycroft came over and patted me on the back trying to console me. The backs of my eyes burned and the tears brimmed over. Mycroft left.


	3. Chapter 3

At around noon I decided to head to St Bart's Hospital and talk to Molly – she always said that she'd be there if I needed someone other than my skull to confide in. Although she had been avoiding myself and John recently – no idea why.

The door into the lab squeaked as I pushed it open. No-one was in the lab, so I took a seat on one of the less crowded worktops. I noticed that Molly had been spending quite a bit of time there recently; there wasn't as much mess as usual.

For a while I just sat and thought, trying to concentrate on my backlog of work, but my thoughts kept trailing back in the same direction. John. He was taking up too much of my time and effort; I shouldn't have got so attached. I didn't even take my own advice.

I was suddenly aware of another presence in the room. I could smell Molly's perfume and see her unique shadow on the spotless floor.

"Sherlock?" she started, watching me warily. "You OK?"

I shrugged my shoulders, something I would never have done before I met John. At least with Molly I wouldn't have to hold back the tears. They could flow as freely as they wanted around her. I did hope it wouldn't come to that.

"What is it? Is it John?" Somehow she always knew what was wrong, it was as if I let my guard down around her and she could read me like a book. Not literally of course, that was impossible. Unless I wrote everything down, which would be one of the biggest wastes of my time I could think of.

I inclined my head slightly. "We had a fight, and…"

"And…" she prompted.

"And he walked out. I'm so worried Molly. What if he no longer likes me? What if he never liked me and I was blinded?" A solitary tear ran down across my cheek, as her expression became even more worried and she sat down beside me on the bench. I was vaguely aware of her arm around my shoulder as my body heaved with dry sobs.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly brought me back to her flat, where she was alone again, and made me a cup of tea. So far, she had avoided the subject of John and attempted to engage me in other conversations. However, my will power was great enough to ignore her and contemplate my problems. I nodded and grunted occasionally. Finally I could bear it no longer.

"What am I going to do?" I blurted out, cutting Molly off midsentence. "He was my whole life." My eyes started to water again. Molly looked at me sadly, but there was something else in her eyes that I couldn't quite name. I ignored it. She screwed her face up, as if something was confusing her. It was a look I saw often.

Her face suddenly lit up. "Call him."

"Huh?" I said, "what?

"Call John. Call his mobile." Of course, why didn't I think of that, two days I've been moping? I should have just called him. I fumbled with my pocket trying to find my iPhone. I started to type but my hands were shaking too badly. Molly prised my fingers off the phone and dialled the number for me. I nodded my thanks and pressed the phone to my ear. _Since when did I become this fragile?_

The phone rang a number of times – I couldn't be bothered to count them – and then went to answerphone. I told myself it didn't mean he was ignoring me, he was just… busy. Yeah, that was it, busy. I decided not to leave a message, he would know everything I had to say anyway.

"Sherlock?" I had forgotten Molly was here.

"Answerphone," I replied. I sighed, squeezed my eyes shut, and when I looked up, Molly was taking my hand and leading me to sit on the plush sofa. We sat down and she put her arm around me. I tensed up at her touch, but didn't back away. It felt strange, being embraced by a female who wasn't my mother or Mrs Hudson. I wasn't sure I enjoyed it, but Molly seemed to have forgotten everything else.

"Molly, what shall I do?" I had lost all hope.

"Well, just because it went to answerphone doesn't mean he doesn't care. Stay here for a bit, in my spare bedroom." Molly was always helpful, that's why I knew I could count on her.

**A/N: Do you think I should do one chapter on what John is thinking? Not what he's doing, that would give it away, just his thoughts/feelings?**

**Review please! Thanks for reading! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

So I stayed at Molly's for a few days. She let me stay in her room and she slept on the sofa, covered in blankets and cushions. After we had negotiated who slept where (I insisted that as I was hurt – so to say – I should have the bed. I won – eventually), and what we had to do (such as cook and stuff – it was decided I can't cook so I didn't), she came with me back to my flat to get my belongings that I would be needing as long as I stayed there.

We developed a routine from the first morning: Molly got up, had her breakfast, and made herself a cup of tea. An hour or two later, just before she went to Bart's, she'd pull me out of bed, wait for me to use the toilet, sit me curled up on the sofa, spoon feed me my breakfast, force a cup of coffee into my mouth and leave for work. When she got home, she'd find me in the same position. Then she'd do everthing that she did in the morning, in reverse. She never bothered to get me out of my pyjamas, because I never did anything or went anywhere. She would try John on my phone once a day, when she thought I didn't know. There was never an answer.

Occasionally, she would put the TV on the BBC News Channel and leave it on all day, but I never paid any attention. Mycroft came to see me once, Molly had told him and Lestrade about my situation. Mycroft brought no comfort whatsoever. He did bring a pack of cigarettes, but I didn't smoke them, nothing would rouse me from my stupor. Or that's what I thought. Anyway, Lestrade came a few times. But he had heard nothing from John, in fact, no-one had.

One rainy Tuesday, at around three o'clock, something on the TV caught my attention.

'_A man was found in east London this morning, having thrown himself from an abandoned flat onto the train tracks. He is thought to have been in his late thirties and has not been identified yet. DI Lestrade is attempting to solve this particular mystery, but we have been informed that the famous detective Sherlock Holmes will not be joining him due to unknown reasons. If anyone has any information or knows of anyone who has gone missing recently, please contact Scotland Yard.'_

I whispered the first thing that came into my mind: "John."


	6. Chapter 6

I hurried into Molly's room, unbuttoning my pyjama top as I went. I threw on my clothes faster than I thought possible, considering my fragile state. I snatched my mobile phone off the bedside table and dialled Lestrade's number.

"Hello?"

"Lestrade. Where are you?"

"At the place of the suicide."

"Where's that?"

"A small flat off Northumberland Street. Why?"

"I'm coming."

"Really? Great! Listen, I'll text you the address."

"Thanks"

I hung up and dialled Molly's number, telling her to meet me there. I dashed outside, and hailed a cab. I got in and told them the address. I normally would have sat back in my seat and not cared how long it took the taxi. But this time was different. I was perched on the edge of the seat, telling the cabbie to hurry up.

When we got there, Lestrade rushed up to the cab door and opened it as I paid the cabbie.

"Sherlock! I am so glad you are here. We are really stuck on this one-"

"Where's the body?"

"On the track. We can get to it through the flat." He had hardly finished speaking when I sprung out of the cab and sprinted to the front door, shoved it open, and reached the track. I ran over to the obvious outline of a body and knelt beside it. Lestrade and Molly appeared beside me.

"Sherlock?" It was Lestrade, at least Anderson wasn't there. "What are you looking for?"

"John, John," I murmured to myself. "Has anyone heard anything about John?" I was frantic now. As I examined the body, I discovered that the face had been mangled, no trace of any identification. And according to Lestrade, there was no identification on the body either. I had to find out the truth, even if it would kill me.

"No-one's heard anything from him Sherlock. You're not here to help with this are you?" Lestrade put his hand on my shoulder – a way of soothing someone apparently. "There's no proof this isn't his body. Sherlock, I am sorry, really I am."

I felt my eyes water and the tears falling down my cold cheeks. I suddenly realised that I might never see John again. I might have been responsible for his death. I might never tell him I love him again. I broke down then, curling up into a ball beside the track. I was glad that the cameras had gone.

Somehow, I was helped into a chair beside the track and handed a phone. The number on the screen I recognised immediately as John's. I pressed the little green phone on the screen and held it to my ear.


	7. Chapter 7

The phone went straight to answerphone. Did that mean it was dead? Hadn't been charged for a while? Crushed? Thrown away? Turned off? My hand fell limply to my side and I felt the pressure of eyes on me.

I could just about see the flashing lights of the police cars through the windows of the flat, but nothing else seemed real. I hated being this helpless, worse than a baby. The last thing I saw before the world went black was the legs of my friends (a matter of opinion) running to my side.

In my various dreams, I saw images of me and John: curled up on the sofa, watching the telly; in the back of a black cab, leaning against each other; our first kiss; but most of all, our fight, and the sight of the body on the tracks.

I opened my eyes, and saw the white, sterilised room I was in: a hospital room. Of course, they wouldn't have taken me back to 221B or even Molly's flat. I haven't been myself since… since he left. I tried to make a sound along the lines of 'anyone there?' but all my throat would allow was a gurgled sound. Much to my surprise, a voice replied.

"Sherlock?"

"John?" My voice was cracked and my throat burned when I tried to speak.

"If only, dear brother, if only. Now don't speak, you've been out for a week. Everyone's been worried, apparently. Mother and Father wanted to come up, but they're unable to, Father's sick and he got worse when he heard." I tried to say John again and Mycroft stopped me.

"No news Sherlock. Sorry. Now, I suppose I had better get everyone from the waiting room." I gave him a puzzled look and he said "They've all been waiting for you to wake up. Oh and Molly's going to be your nurse, they decided she's qualified enough and is the best person for you. Now stay there, we don't want you escaping."


	8. Chapter 8

I closed my eyes. I heard pounding feet and exclamations outside my door. It burst open and in came Molly, Lestrade, even Anderson and Sally, but no John. I don't know what I was expecting, but I was still disappointed.

"Sherlock!"

"Sherlock!"

"Freak."

But none of their voices warmed him more than Molly's.

"Sherlock! You passed out because you haven't been eating or drinking properly, and you hadn't been outside for weeks. Don't do this to us again Sherlock, will you? When you speak, I am going to make you promise." She tried to sound forbidding, but failing.

I smiled gratefully at them all. Molly and Lestrade looked as if they hadn't slept for days, which, I guessed, they hadn't. I gave Lestrade a questioning look and then looked at the newspaper I had noticed him put on my small bedside table. He looked at it, took a deep breath and said:

"We have got no further with the suicide Sherlock, there has been a reported disappearance of another man, and we have told everyone it was him, since John's disappearance wasn't officially reported. Technically, the case is closed, but I'm giving all my spare time trying to find anything about John and carrying the case on at home."

I tried to heave myself up, but the effort was too much; my breathing intensified and Molly gently helped me back down. "Stay there Sherlock. You're gonna be here a while, even if you don't like it." I could feel my eyelids getting heavy and everything went quieter as I fell into sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

I was in and out of consciousness for a few days, but there was always someone by my side when I awoke, mostly Mycroft, much to my annoyance. They finally let me go home. I had a debate with myself on whether to go back there or stay at Molly's. Realising that I would have to go back to Baker Street at some point, I had Molly bring all of my stuff to the hospital and then make sure I got to Baker Street alright. After a quick word with Mrs Hudson and making sure I had food in the fridge, she left, making me feel more alone than ever.

I made a promise to myself that I would get out of this coma-like state of mind and actually get something done. Stop moping about the house. I decided that the best thing I could do was help Lestrade in some of the other cases. There were two reasons for this: firstly it would take my mind off, well, John, and secondly, if I got Lestrade's cases done for him, he would be able to find out more about the train incident (that was one case that my mind wouldn't concentrate on).

I packed all of my stuff away and sorted out my dirty washing from the clean. Then I took a shower, my first one in days, and that helped more than anything else I had tried. I had to try and find some money somewhere – I was sure Mycroft would help out.

However, whatever I did, I was restless. The shows on daytime TV were really crap, and I hated anything that put useless rubbish in my mind.

I rang Lestrade up at least once an hour, just to see if there were any new cases or developments on cases. But the criminal body of London must have had a meeting and decided to be unbelievably boring, because, no matter how many times I rang a day; there was never anything of any interest. Lestrade did offer to let me come and have a chat or something of the sort in his office, but Anderson was always there and there was no way I was talking to him.

I was starting to get restless out of my mind. Various people attempted to cheer me up and get me involved in stuff. But their idea of fun was, well, not fun. A prolonged week later, I received a text. I would have assumed it was Lestrade, had it not been John's ringtone.

_You OK? JW_

I froze completely; if this was from John, then that meant that he was alive. I checked when it was sent. 11:24pm. I pressed the home button, verifying the time. If it was indeed John, he must have sent it just now. I sent a quick reply.

_Where are you? Please call me. I'm sorry. SH _

I typed it out and sent it before I realised what I had written. There was no taking it back now. Where had that apology come from? Almost as soon as I pressed send, my phone started ringing. I stared down at the screen; John.

"John?" I asked, sitting on the edge of the sofa.

"Yeah Sherlock it's me. You sound worried, what happened?"

"Where are you John?"

"I'm staying with my sister just outside of Bristol. Why?"

"I have been trying to get hold of you for weeks." I was fuming now, I should have been relieved when I heard his voice, but my pent up rage from the past few weeks was overpowering. "I have been scared, John, scared out of my mind!"

"Sher-"

"THERE WAS A SUICIDE JOHN. WE COULDN'T SAY FOR SURE THAT IT WASN'T YOU." Tears streaked my cheeks, now; I couldn't hold them in.

"Sher- wait what? Sherlock come down to Bristol. We can talk in private."

"Fine, John. I'll get the first train tomorrow. Meet me at the station."

"Ok, see you tomorrow."

"Bye." I hung up, immobilised by the information I had just received. John was alive. I swiftly became conscious that I had to ring everyone,


End file.
